


Terrible Times on the Dream SMP

by IDontKnowWhyIAm



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontKnowWhyIAm/pseuds/IDontKnowWhyIAm
Summary: A collection of Dream SMP angst requests. Tags and characters will update with each chapter.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	Terrible Times on the Dream SMP

**Author's Note:**

> Icarus and the Midnight Sun
> 
> \---------
> 
> Tommy begins to grow wings in exile, but Dream has been very clear about his rule: "No flying on the SMP."

It is four days into Tommy's exile when his shoulders begin to ache. He figures it must be the endless tree chopping or ore mining exhausting his muscles, so he does his best to ignore it. He'll get used to it eventually, he's sure.

It is ten days into Tommy's exile when the pain suddenly sharpens, and he feels as though his shoulder blades are burning from the inside out. He figures maybe he should give his arms some rest. That will help ease the pain a bit, right? For the rest of the day, Dream lets him relax. He's grateful for it.

It is fifteen days into Tommy's exile when the skin finally begins to push outward, whitening as it stretches further from the rest of him. The pain is so terrible that it makes Tommy vomit. He can't keep anything down, so he doesn't eat or drink. He just spends the day in his tent, curled in on himself, praying to whatever gods might hear him that the pain ceases soon.

He must have passed out from the pain at some point, because on the morning of the sixteenth day, he wakes up to a new, awkward feeling on his back. It's a heavy and wrong feeling, like he's being sat on, and he's so exhausted he can hardly lift his head to look. With what energy he can muster, he manages to catch a brief glimpse at the cause: a wing, covered already in downy feathers. He can only assume there's a matching one on the other side. He wishes someone could be here with him to help him out, like Phil, or even Big Q.

By the eighteenth day, he's finally able to get out of bed. Dream hasn't come by the past couple days, so he's almost certainly going to be here today. The feathers are growing at an almost alarming rate, and Tommy wonders if Phil's grow the same way. Three different colors of feather decorate either wing from base to tip: scarlet, orange, and canary yellow. Ghostbur has been fawning over them since Tommy left the tent. It's nice to have someone there to see them, he supposes. Then, he remembers the words he'd overheard Dream say to Phil, clear as day: "No flying on the SMP." He scrambles to pull his shirt on over his wings, but quickly realizes it's not enough. The colors are clearly visible through the old white fabric. He swears under his breath.

Ghostbur looks on curiously. He seems to be contemplating something. He disappears momentarily into the little house in Logstedshire before returning with a tattered brown coat. Tommy recognizes it immediately.

"That's Wilbur's." Ghostbur doesn't meet Tommy's eyes, but his affect is cheerful as ever.

"You're... trying to hide those, right?" He waves a hand matter-of-factly in the direction of Tommy's back. "I don't know why you have to, but this will help, I think."

Tommy takes the coat hesitantly. The fabric is rougher than he remembers. There's a slit in the back, surrounded by a dark stain. Tommy tries not to think too much about it as he slips it on. It's far too big for him, but it'll do. It has to. His wings are safe like this. Dream gives him a funny look when he arrives, but otherwise says nothing. He's safe.

________________________

Tommy's wings continue to grow as the days pass. It's getting harder and harder to hide the bump forming at his back, harder to excuse himself from Dream's watchful eye to stretch them out or preen them. Dream has been visiting more often, so some days he can't catch a break, and his wings ache from disuse. Tommy hopes that before too long Dream will let him have a day to himself, so he can finally give his wings a chance to work their magic. He wasn't expecting to slip up so soon.

"Tommy." He freezes at the sound of Dream's voice calling his name. "What's this?" Dream is holding up a single red feather. Tommy opens his mouth but the words catch in his throat. _What is he meant to say?_

Dream doesn't seem to have the patience to wait for a response anyway, as he barks for Tommy to take Wilbur's jacket off. He does so hurriedly. Better to do as Dream asks. Better to stop him from being angrier than he already is. He's had to cut slits in his old shirt, since it was getting so constricting having it over his wings, so both of them are on full display now.

"Open."

Tommy spreads his wings out as much as he can. They haven't been stretched in a while and he can certainly feel it. He watches Dream's eyes take in the wings in all their "glory", and it feels like he's being picked apart bit by bit. He shivers. Finally, after what feels like hours, Dream's careful gaze shifts from the colorful appendages to Tommy's pleading eyes.

"You know the rules, Tommy."

A sob escapes him, and he becomes painfully aware of the warm wetness running down his cheeks. _When did he start crying?_ Dream reaches for the axe at his waist, taking a single step forward, and suddenly the words are pouring out of Tommy faster than even he could keep up with.

"NopleaseDreamIpromiseIwon'tusethem _I'llbegoodDreampleasedont-_ " Dream ignores him, roughly grabbing onto the base of a wing with one hand, and lifting his axe into position with the other. Tommy yelps at the sudden contact. He tries to pull away, but Dream tugs him back immediately. He can't watch as the axe comes down.

He's on fire. The red hotness on his back, running down from his shoulder is proof of that, right? Dream is moving to the other side, or perhaps not, but with the pain it's hard to focus. His mouth is open, but he can't remember if he's screamed. Everything is so hot and loud and bright, and suddenly it just isn't. It all stops and he's floating.

He doesn't hear or feel the second thunk of axe against flesh, or the third, as Dream cuts through the flesh and bone with an almost practiced precision. He doesn't know when he's moved onto the second wing, and he doesn't feel Dream wrapping his torso in bandages and carrying him to his bed. He doesn't hear Ghostbur quietly question what happened, and he doesn't know that Dream leaves without a word. Nothing hurts right now, and that's what matters.

It sure as hell hurts when he wakes up. It's almost like that fifteenth day all over again, except this time Tommy knows why he's hurting. He doesn't want to get up, even if he could. Dream had lain him facedown, so the injury couldn't have gotten too much worse as he slept, he hopes. With much effort, he lifts himself enough to turn his head to face the other side of the tent. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. A bundle of three feathers, one scarlet, one orange, one canary yellow, on top of a slip of paper signed simply with a smile. Tommy thinks he's going to be sick.


End file.
